


i'm sad and lonely and tired of posting one-shots displaying that so they're all gonna go here

by tmisos



Series: originals [2]
Category: Original Work
Genre: Anxiety, Seizures, Suicide Attempt Reference, at least ill have a multi chapter fic i know ill get back to, bc im always sad!, bc im done posting sad venty one shots all the time, this is just gonna be sad poems from my life, when i need to vent
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-03-18
Updated: 2018-06-07
Packaged: 2019-04-03 23:38:21
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 2,078
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14007342
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tmisos/pseuds/tmisos
Summary: what???? the title?? says????????this is a lot of word-vom*t and minimal editing, be forewarned





	1. i have confusing feelings abt my ex so i wrote this

**Author's Note:**

> hi so im always sad and when im sad i usually post a weird not-poem on here but im kinda done with those being my only original works bc thats rlly depressing so all that sad shits going here!!! uh yeah here ya go

I don’t know if I hurt you or you hurt me or if we both just fucked each other over.

I wanted to be mad at you,

I wanted you to be mad at me.

I want to be friends with you,

I want you to care about me.

That’s redundant.

Wanted? Or want?

You’re crashing hard but still decided that after all I did for you, I would be the one who would be your cushion when you hit the ground.

I spent too long worrying about you.

I don’t know if you even meant to do it,

But being constantly guilt-tripped and emotionally toyed with for half a decade does some damage.

I want to say that I don’t care. I want to say it doesn’t even matter.

But I decided I didn’t want another enemy.

So, I didn’t block your number.

I can’t block your number.

We don’t hate each other,

Which is good. I think.

But you talk to me in the hallways,

And you like my tweets and comment on my photos and you text me and above all else,

You keep us connected.

_And it hurts._

And I hate it and I love it and I just wish seventh grade math class didn’t exist,

Because if that were the case we would’ve never met and this would’ve never happened and I could be so much happier.

Dating and loving and kissing you was the best and worst thing I’ve ever done.

I loved you even while you manipulated me and used me as you pleased. I loved you before you said you loved me too, and after you said you didn’t love me anymore.

I loved you before I knew what you were and I loved you after.

I bought gifts for you, let you borrow clothes that I still see you wearing in the hallway today, comforted you, kept your birthday card to me in my phone case for three years.

I encouraged you, serenaded you for Christ’s sake,

And I know this is all about me.

It seems self-absorbed for someone crying about feeling unloved because their significant other was only thinking about themself.

But I’m supposed to be over this.

And here we are.

Once, when I realized what you were, and I was desperate, oh-so-desperate. I made a poem. Of things to love about you. Could this be the evil counterpart?

Two poems.

Everything I love,

And everything I hate,

About You.

I understand why there’s so many goddamn love songs, now.

It’s because you can only be sad externally so much before people get tired of it.

So, people write love songs so their friends don’t have to endlessly hear them complain.

Kinda like what I’m doing here.

I don’t have a proper way to end this other than,

I’m sad and lonely, peace out.


	2. the diary of a kid whose biggest fear is growing up

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> i'm scared of being an adult. that's that.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hi so adult-y things have been giving me a lotta anxiety lately so im kinda here with this. its basically all my stresses and reasoning behind why i dont wanna be an adult. its most anxious rambling, i feel, but,,, whaddya gonna do. ik im a smol bab to a lotta ppl and i havent even experienced all the shit im scared of but thats why im scared of it. bc everyone seems to hate it so much and no one wants to grow up and it just seems so awful. anyways im done justifying myself to no one. here.

This is the diary of a kid whose biggest fear is growing up.

  


You’re sixteen, nearly seventeen, and while that may seem young to most, so many things are on the horizon.

  


_ This is where you get your first job. _

  


Even for minimum-wage jobs, you have to go to an interview, create a decent resume, look presentable.

  


You might have to wear a uniform, which sounds god-awful in my book. Fancy clothes made to look like not-fancy clothes. Pure fucking deceit if you ask me.

  


If you get the job, you’ll have to work with a bunch of strangers. Or even worse, you’ll work at the grocery store that it seems every kid from school works at and you’ll be forced to interact with kids who you either don’t like or intimidate you for  _ more _ than the 30 hours already required by law.

  


_ This is where you get your permit, and then your license. _

  


This car is a dangerous hunk of metal that now you’re supposed to be in charge of controlling?

Did you know thirty-two  _ hundred _ people die in car crashes every day?

  


And now you have the possibility of becoming part of those statistics.

  


This may sound juvenile, but the all the stories I’ve heard about driving instructors are horrible.

  


The one that I actually met only told me what I did wrong, which, yeah, that’s what he’s supposed to do, but it felt like he barked it at me and it made me feel like I was terrible at driving afterwards.

  


It just feels like we’re supposed to get into a  _ car _ we don’t know, with a  _ person _ we don’t know and suddenly know how to drive like 21 st century Jesus, and if we don’t, they get mad at us.

  


Not to mention the fact that you can’t even go out alone with your friends for another year. The only difference between your mom driving you and your friends, and you driving you and your friends during that time-period is that you and your mom switch seats.

  


To sum it up, the thought of dealing with those guys while  _ you’re  _ behind the wheel? Yeah, I’m not seeing the perks of a license just yet.

  


_ This is where your planning for college starts. _

  


There’s an unlimited number of questions and they’re all inescapable.

  


Where will you go?

  


Will it be in state or out-of-state?

  


Will it be a certain type of school? Well, what type of degree do you want?

  


Follow-up question: then what will you study there?

  


Will you live in a dorm with a stranger or even two, inside an entire building of strangers?

  


Never mind the fact that it’s a whole new environment, one that I am not used to and not sure I want to get used to.

  


Family gatherings full of distant aunts who you only see once a year asking you what you want to study in college, kids in school talking about college, the guidance counselors, your parents. It seems like everyone you’ve ever met needs to know your college plans right this moment.

  


_ Not to mention all of the long term thoughts. _

  


Leaving home.

  


Wherever you go, you’ll have to make new friends.

  


Sure, you’ll have your current friends, but once you’re all off on your own ways, you won’t see each other as much. School was the only way I’ve ever made friends and I’ve always made them through my other friends. They always said ‘hi’ first, or already knew the person. I have trouble making friends on my own.

  


Getting your first apartment.

  


Buying everything to go  _ into _ the apartment.

  


Getting a car.

  


Another game of “time to go through all that Job Shit,” so you can get a better, higher-paying job.

  


And hopefully you don’t hate this job. Or any of the jobs your degree allows your to have.

  


Next is paying off college loans for-actual-ever.

  


Bills, bills, bills, endless bills.

  


I learned the other day that our parents have to pay a water  _ and _ a sewer bill. I looked it up and apparently it goes through the pipes and they turn it into fertilizer here or something. It’s being put back into the ground for good use.

  


What the hell are we paying double for? Shouldn’t those bills be connected? Those concepts are connected. Why are we going to have to pay two different bills?

  


I guess wishful thinking is being able to creatively cook for yourself every night so your food doesn’t get hopelessly boring.

  


I came to our parents with this dilemma and they said, “Being an adult isn’t that bad!”

  


I told them, “All you complain about is being an adult. Bills, back pain, work.”

  


I asked them to give me one positive about being an adult.

  


Do you want to know happened? They looked at each other. They didn’t answer.

  


Because they. Couldn’t. Do. it. 

  


So, in my eyes, that simply proved all my points.

  


And it might not seem like much to the person reading this, but it sure is a lot for a kid whose biggest fear is growing up.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> woah u read all the way to the end???? i love u sm <333 thanks for dealing with me!! being a!!1!!1!! sad!!1!!11! teen!1!! i should stop being emo but am i gonna? prolly not. thanks for stickin' around tho. love ya babes.


	3. panic.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> as you can see, im handling finals week well.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hi im not dead but finals are stressful af and im fucking dying sdkdsckjsd. school is almost out tho and (hopefully) ill write more. i have a whole fucking list of ideas i swear, i just need to sit my ass down and actually write lmao. ok enjoy my fucking angsty ass whining again.

My panic attacks are rarely what everyone else describes them to be.

 

They’re rarely loud or violent. No sobs tear through my throat and no tears fall down my face. The breathing exercises I’ve memorized to only to give to my friends are worthless if I don’t hyperventilate.

 

I seldom move.

 

My panic attacks are my body deciding to forget that you need to breathe to survive and my thoughts going a million miles a minute and my heart lurching into my throat and while all of this is happening, I’m sitting in the company of my friends, or in class, or a movie theater and no one even realizes because it’s all in my head.

 

There are no external signs.

 

My panic attacks are my mind saying “ _runrunrunRUN,"_ while my body just sits there, pretending my mind isn’t blaring the alarms and telling me that everything’s an emergency for no fucking reason.

 

One time, in Junior year of High School, a kid I’d known since 7th grade had a seizure right next to me. He sat in front of me in US History II and was a hockey player that decided to come to school with a concussion. In that same History class, his whole body went rigid and his arms came up and almost hit me in the face. I thought he was stretching until he fell to the floor and slammed his head _hard._ The principal came and everyone was ordered to leave the room and head to the cafeteria. The issue was, I couldn't because on one side of me was a cement wall and on the other was his seizing body. I was the last one out of the room and I was the only one to see his face turn an awful shade of purple.

 

I dreamt about it for weeks. Any sudden movements out of the corner of my eye or unusual sounds behind me remind me of that day. Of his face. I see my brother stretch or hear someone behind us at a restaurant cough strangely and I'm so scared it's happening all over again.

 

We didn’t learn much History that day. No one really minded if we used our phones. So, while kids who didn’t even know him were crying, I pulled my phone out of my bag with shaking hands and opened twitter in an attempt to quiet the constant _everything_ happening in my mind. My face was emotionless, other than my furrowed eyebrows. I’m not sure if I looked angry or confused but it really doesn’t matter either way. It seemed I was perfectly fine.

 

Sometimes I’m angry about it. Sometimes I’m grateful. I’m not sure people realize how often I actually have panic attacks. I didn’t even realize what they were up until about a year ago. I thought you were required to have a full-on breakdown to “qualify” for anxiety. Whatever the fuck that means.

 

I’m angry because so many times my head is screaming _“helpmehelpmehelpme,”_ and my body just sits there. If I’m with people, my body turns on an auto-pilot. I’m having an actual fucking panic attack but I’ll still manage to half-listen to whatever my friend is talking about, nod and smile at the right parts because “ _it’s dumb and I’m supposed to be okay.”_

 

I’m grateful because then people don’t have to see me like that. Very few people have seen the worst of my panic attacks, and I’m glad. I don’t want to be sobbing all over people constantly. I said before that I don’t think people know how often I get them. If they were full-on-can’t-breathe-hyperventilation-sobbing-fests, I’d be missing class 3 times a week and probably failing.

 

I think if my panic attacks were like most, It’d be way fucking harder. But it’d also might be easier.

 

If my panic attacks were like most, people could see the part of me I always hide.

 

I always joke about how fucked up I am. I joke about my depression and anxiety and that one time I almost killed myself. But it’s always a joke. It’s never serious. So, in my head, people don’t really _know._ In my head, I’m supposed to be happy. All the fucking time. At least to everyone else.

 

I’m supposed to be happy and fine and not having a panic attack about dumb shit like getting a C as my quarter grade in math.

 

So, I don’t.

 

At least not to them.

 

Because it’s all in my head.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> wow, u made it to the end? :ooo congrats! u win my undying love <3 ok see u l8r

**Author's Note:**

> uh yeah idk if this made any sense at all but here ya go??????????? its mostly just me word-vomiting with zero editing so have fun with that,,,  
> k bye


End file.
